To Tame a Scoundrel's Heart (A Waltz with a Rogue Novella Book 4) by Collette Cameron Read Free Book Online Page A

gripped his forearm, staring into his eyes and seeing the wounds he strove to disguise: the rejected little boy, the disparaged privateer, and now the disdained duke—at least until he proved himself.
    “Don’t settle for mediocrity, Nic. Wait for love. Your sisters will be the better for it, and you deserve to be loved for yourself, not for what your title promises.”
    My, but she’d achieved a new level of audaciousness, advising a privateer on matters of love. No, a duke now, and one most assuredly more experienced in such matters than she. Had he ever loved a woman? She opened her mouth to ask, but this time, common sense prodded her hard. That was much too forward a thing to ask a man who’d been a stranger but an hour ago.
    Why did it seem like she’d known him for years then?
    “Katrina, you’ve called me Nic several times now, so I think it only fair I address you by your given name, scandalous though it might be.”
    Never had her name sounded half so lovely rolling off a man’s tongue. She wanted to ask him to say it again, and again, and again. Instead, she acquiesced with a tilt of her chin. “Only when we are alone, Nic.”
    He touched her chin with the familiarity of an older, beloved brother. “I’ll ponder your genial advice and look forward to calling on you once I’ve completed my business in London.”
    Long after Nic had handed her into Papa’s carriage, and she’d settled into the comfortable ruby squabs, a lap robe across her knees, Katrina still felt his fingertip upon her nose, heard her name on his lips, and saw his eyes alight with humor. He smelled rather lovely too, and he was a good man, through and through. Despite the challenges Fate had dealt him, he’d overcome them while retaining a rare, soul-deep decency.
    A gentleman privateer. No, a ducal privateer.
    Before she left the carriage, Katrina had assimilated a partial list of qualifications she believed made for Nic’s perfect bride, yet she couldn’t summon the name of a single female she deemed worthy to be his duchess.
     
    * * *
     
    Late in the afternoon three days later, Katrina sat at her library writing desk, determined to have a list prepared for Nic when he came to dinner. Biting a fingernail and tapping her toes in an unsteady cadence, she deliberated the messy, crossed off duchess prospectus , as she’d come to call the list. Over the past hour, she’d scribbled name after name and found fault or exception with every lady she chose.
    She barely knew him; so how could she be so certain each of the ladies wouldn’t suit?
    Still, Katrina stubbornly refused to admit defeat. She’d made Nic a promise and meant to keep it. Who else would aid him if she didn’t? More on point, who could he trust not to have an ulterior motive? She was already affianced— almost —so he needn’t worry she’d set her cap for him.
    “Miss Delores Barringsworth?”
    Katrina scritched the name onto the foolscap. And promptly scratched it off.
    “Too flighty. She’d drive Nic mad, batting her eyelashes, and that horrid giggle ...? Sounds like cats drowning. He’d toss her overboard in a fortnight.”
    Katrina set the nib to the paper again.
    Think .
    She’d experienced two Seasons, and since half the ton owed Papa’s bank money, she’d been accepted into the most prestigious parlors. Well, accepted mightn’t be wholly accurate. Tolerated rang truer. Le beau monde might abide wealthy commoners, but they didn’t embrace them wholeheartedly.
    Still, she knew women. A myriad of them. Young. Old. Short. Tall. Slender. Portly. Innocent, fresh-faced, dewy-eyed girls and cosmetic-tinted, sharp-clawed hellcats.
    “Surely there must be scores of suitable ladies.” Many not altogether pleasant or the least compatible with Nic, however. She screwed up her face and pursed her lips. “Come now, Katrina. Put your mind to the task. In all of England, there has to be a handful of unobjectionable prospects.”
    She’d intended to have a